


Five ways it could have ended (and one way it still could)

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5 Things, Alternative title: the author destroys themself with feelings at 5am, Break Up, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Double Drabble, Heavy Angst, M/M, POV David Rose, Well technically the +1 is by the standards of this fic at least, no happy endings here, which isn’t saying much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: Five ways David and Patrick’s relationship could have ended, and one way it still might.Mind the tags, folks. This ain’t a fluffy one.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 53
Kudos: 78





	Five ways it could have ended (and one way it still could)

**Author's Note:**

> Remember me? The person who has said, multiple times, that they're allergic to angst? Yeah. If anyone can explain where all THIS came from at 5am, I’d love to hear it, because I sure don’t know.
> 
> (Though I maintain the +1 is technically a happy ending, depending on your point of view.)
> 
> All double drabbles (exactly 200 words each).

“I can’t begin to tell you how much that kiss meant to me,” Patrick tells him the morning after his birthday, “and I am so grateful. But David, we own a store together. Should we really be putting that at risk?”

There’s a logical answer and there’s a true one, David thinks. The truth is that he's kissed a thousand people, and not one of them felt like it did last night. But Patrick has spent weeks trying to help him be more professional; he should take the sensible path.

“You’re right,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest. “We should put the store first.”

Patrick nods. "Thank you, David," he says softly. "I couldn't bear to lose this."

_ But you could bear to lose me, _ he thinks,  _ before you even really had me. _

It's awkward, for a little while; then less so. Eventually David can make a joke about setting the bar for first kisses so high, and that's why Patrick never seems to date anyone long term, and it hardly hurts at all when Patrick laughs and says, "Keep telling yourself that, David."

David Rose is already so broken; what difference does one more crack make, really?

~*~

David's truth is that he is damaged goods. David's truth is also that he has been the experiment, the side piece, more times than he can count. 

He thought Patrick was different. The earnestness and the public serenading and the silly little monthly anniversary gifts David pretended to hate — it made him forget, just for a moment, that he'll never be worthy of someone like Patrick. 

"You make me feel right, David," Patrick tells him desperately, hands twitching like he's longing to reach out, his eyes far louder than his words. 

_ How often did you say that to her, though? _ David thinks. 

The wine is a surprise, but it's a surprise he can share with Stevie. When he gets back from Elmdale there are chocolates on his doorstep, and the next morning there's flowers. 

"Please stop sending me gifts," he whispers down the phone later that evening. 

Patrick is immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, David, I wasn't respecting your space. I'll back off, give you some more time."

"I don't need more time." The words catch in his throat, foreign and painful. But he knows it will hurt less now than later. "I'm sorry, Patrick. I can't forgive you for this."

~*~

Patrick goes on the date with Ken, and then he comes to the motel and tells David he wasn't interested. And David doesn't think he's lying, necessarily, but there's a distance between them that didn't exist before. 

David doesn't push, because he's scared to push. He's terrified of what lies behind that door. So he leaves it shut until one day, a few weeks later, Patrick kicks it wide open. 

"I didn't want to date Ken," he says one evening in the store, out of the blue, just after they close. "I just... enjoyed being seen."

"I know," David murmurs, because he does, now. 

"But you pushed me into it." Patrick doesn't say it in a particularly accusatory way, but the tone is almost purposefully measured.

"I'm sorry," David whispers. 

"I know." It's the first time Patrick has looked directly at him since flipping the sign to closed. "But every time a vaguely attractive guy walks in here, I think,  _ is David going to try and make me date him too?" _

David shakes his head minutely. "I—"

"I can't keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, David," Patrick says quietly. "That's not a relationship I want to be in."

~*~

All the way from the cafe to Patrick's apartment, David thinks,  _ there's been a misunderstanding.  _

Of course there has. It's his dad getting the wrong end of the stick, like usual, and blowing everything up. The poison ivy is still very fresh in his mind. 

But when he asks if Patrick's parents know about him, it's the first time he's known, unequivocally, that Patrick is lying to him. 

"Coming out is personal," David tells him, "and you should only do it on your own terms." And he means that. "But you cannot let your partner of _two years_ think you're out. Especially when I talk to your parents on the phone. Do you realise how easy it would have been? One slip of the tongue, one pet name?"

Patrick cradles his head in his hands, collapsed on the couch; David stays standing. "I'm so sorry, David," he whispers. "The longer I didn't tell you, the bigger it got in my head."

"I'll just be your business partner," he forces himself to say, choking up. 

"I can't ask you to do that tonight," Patrick replies; David holds up his hand. 

"You're not hearing me, Patrick. I am just your business partner."

~*~

The whole time Patrick sleeps off his dental surgery David stares at the ceiling, stomach churning. Patrick's rambling, induced by painkillers though it may be, has knocked him for a six. 

He's pretty sure that's a sports thing. Patrick would love it. 

Patrick wakes up, groggy and rumpled and so cute David almost doesn't say anything. But he has to. 

"Do you want kids?" he asks once he's relayed Patrick's words. 

Patrick's eyes slide past him. "I know you don't, David, and that's fine," he says quietly. 

"That wasn't the question," he whispers. 

Patrick sighs. "Yes, I want kids. But you don't, and I've made my peace with that."

And the thing is, David believes him. Patrick would put this desire aside, this huge, fundamental thing, for him. It's too much. 

"You can't compromise on children," David chokes out, tears streaming down his face. "Patrick, you can't. You'll be a great dad. I can't take that away from you."

Patrick stumbles out of bed, grabbing his hands. "You would too, you know," he says desperately, but David can see in his eyes he knows how this conversation ends. 

They hold each other for a long time, mourning what they had.

~+~

It’s almost silent in the hospice wing, save for one steady breath and another far more laboured one. Wrinkled hands lay clasped together on top of the blanket, the skin around both left ring fingers bearing the signs of a ring worn constantly for decades. 

The night nurse enters. Brenda, he thinks her name is, and he finds a small smile for her. 

"Just checking on my favourite patient," she whispers, and he chuckles despite himself. 

"Pity he can't hear you."

She listens to the rattled breathing coming from the bed for a moment, takes a pulse. 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she says quietly. "Hearing is the last sense to go. I think, if you talk to him, he'll hear you." She reaches over to squeeze his hand. "I don't think it will be long now."

"Thanks, Brenda," he chokes out, and then she's gone. 

He stares down at the face in the bed, more familiar than his own.  _ He can hear you _ , he thinks, but what words are left that haven't been said in nearly sixty years of marriage?

He presses a kiss to his husband's brow. "You can rest now," he chokes out. 

Breath. 

Silence.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. Come and yell at me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com) if you need to.


End file.
